Mystery (is what this is to me)
by Kuro49
Summary: Herc/Chuck. This is not a love story for the new age. Or Chuck leaves the PPDC after the Breach is closed. And Herc finds him three years later, living in a house by the sea (and Christ, the kid's even got himself a fence too).


Chuck is the biggest jerk of all the Shatterdomes but I just need the two of them to be happy okay. If you couldn't tell from the title, The Black Key's _The Only One_ is totally the track I had on repeat. PS: The things I do for this egotistical simple thing with your truck loads of daddy issues, HBD! (Oh god, Chuck is canonically ten right now and I am writing incest fic as his b-day present... /covers face)

XXX

**Mystery (is what this is to me)**

XXX

1.

The Breach is closed.

And when there is no Kaiju, the world has no need for Jaegers, and least of all, their battle worn pilots with their heads fractured down the centre. This marks the end of their glory days with the Shatterdome looking out of place by the Pacific coast, a sad, desolate reminder of the past and all the lives that they couldn't save. It reminds him of Oblivion Bay, and those are just the Jaegers that are still standing, the rest in dust and bones beneath the waves (his gorgeous Striker _gone_).

It has been six months since the Breach is closed. Six months since he has seen the inside of a Conn-Pod. Six months since he has been in someone else's head. And he knows he can't do this anymore.

Not with this silence taking him apart.

2.

When Chuck enters the office, the man sitting behind the desk is not his father. He hasn't been a father first for a long, long time because Hercules Hansen has always been a soldier, then a co-pilot, and even now, he is the Marshal before he is Chuck's anything.

The man looks up from the endless files, and Chuck isn't sure what he can see.

But the two of them have been drift compatible since the start, when Herc has been instructing new recruits between stepping into the newest Marks during those early days of the war. When Chuck has just been accepted into the Jaeger Program at fifteen, all bone deep defiance that very first time he steps up to the mat in the Kwoon.

Chuck knows he expects less, from the both of them now that they haven't been in each other's head for so long. But for a fraction of a second, when his old man looks up at him like that, Chuck feels a glimmer of what they used to have, a phantom pain on the best of his days. Something that he hasn't allowed himself to have since their fourth kill.

It doesn't make it any harder to say.

"I can't stay."

Chuck doesn't sit down but he does put a hand to the edge of the table where his fingers can graze over the name engraved into the nameplate. A Marshal H. Hansen. One that has his eyes resting carefully over the expression of his son's face at his following delivery.

"I don't have a choice."

Chuck doesn't smile but his lips twist, something rueful and unapologetic when he replies, "I know, dad."

And that has always been the extent of their goodbyes.

3.

A postcard arrives nearly four months later.

There is nothing written on the back aside from a return address in his son's handwriting. The brat's chicken scratch excuse of handwriting.

Herc takes what he gets.

4.

In another life, Chuck never makes it back.

He dies in the nuclear bang in a drift that is all silence. Herc has been in Stacker's head, the man doesn't carry anything into the shared headspace. And they are tricks that Herc knows just as well, but it's just a little different, so much harder, when you are drifting with your own blood and flesh. (When he's a little bit of you in all the worst possible ways.)

In another life, Herc doesn't know how he could've continued.

5.

He doesn't.

6.

This isn't that one.

Hercules Hansen hasn't been on Australian soil since those last days of the war, and even then, he has been stationed throughout the world before that. But it is now a good three years since the Breach is closed, and the world hasn't needed the Jaeger Program for just as long. (The Shatterdome now a research facility for Kaiju Science and applications of the Jaeger Technology.) In extension, they don't need a Marshal. They don't need _him_.

And it is only then that he feels like it's about time that he came home.

7.

Herc pulls up in front of a house by the sea, dirt road crunching beneath the tires.

And he would tell himself that he must have read his son's handwriting wrong if he can't already see Chuck standing in the middle of the yard with a bright red hose in his hands, watering the lawn like he belongs. And the little shit even looks up and _grins_ at Herc through the windshield of his car.

Whatever it is that Herc expects, this isn't it.

He turns off the engine and lets the rumbling slow to a silence. As much as he wants to, he doesn't drop his head to the steering wheel in defeat. And he is so wrong for assuming that time and distance could've changed a thing because Herc doesn't know how he's managed so long without seeing Chuck like this. Herc reluctantly gets out of the car and watches as his son shuts off the water. His feet are bare on the wet grass, hair glowing gold beneath the sun, grin a wide arc over his face as he waits, expectantly for his father to say _something_.

"…I came to see how Max was doing."

Chuck's grin widens and the intensity behind it reminds Herc of the Australian sun. It's just a little bit blinding and it makes his head hurt. "I know."

He whistles, something sharp and just on the edge of piercing, before Max is running back from the edge of the fence (and Christ, the kid even got himself a white picket fence) with all the grace of a slobbering mess. At this point, Herc is almost expecting it too, to have a pretty girl with a swollen belly walking out the backdoor with glasses of lemonade, all sweating over handmade coasters.

"You've spoiled him." Herc murmurs, kneeling down on the grass to scratch the dog behind the ears, smile faint on his face when Max barks happily in recognition.

"Well, I've got no one else." Chuck says, and he is glad his dad doesn't look up, doesn't want to know what the man could see if only he had looked up. (Herc's hand stills on Max's chin when Chuck repeats himself, not that the kid notices it either.) "There's no one else."

"What?"

"You look like you were going to ask anyway." Chuck shrugs, nonchalant as he shakes off the last of the water from the hose and tosses it to the side. "I didn't think you needed a grandkid to remind you what an old man you are."

Herc scowls but he doesn't pull away when Max leaps into his arms and licks his face like it hasn't been exactly three years and some days since they've seen each other.

"Don't call me that."

But it is.

8.

"So what do you do?"

Chuck doesn't tell his father that he needs the sight of the sea. But he thinks Herc can probably understand that the need of a reminder that the ocean isn't all monsters and Kaiju blue. They are sitting close enough to have Max lying sprawled across their laps, Chuck peeling at the label of his beer just as Herc takes another swig.

Head tipping back, throat exposed.

Chuck looks away and replies, eyes on the waves.

"Surf mostly."

9.

They are a terrible fit.

And have the potential to be even worse now that they no longer have the luxury of the drift, no more access to their headspace where they never needed words. But they don't go back to their old ways just because they don't know how to go about it any other way.

Instead, Chuck offers up his bed, only because it is the only furnished bedroom in the entire house, and tells his dad that the couch in the living room folds out. (It does, Chuck thinks.)

Herc is standing at the foot of the bed, Max already lying on his stomach in the centre of the sheets, looking between the Hansens like he is waiting for one of them to do something. Herc glares at the dog, and then at his son before he is throwing his duffel bag to the corner of the room, his words coming out in a mutter.

"Don't be an idiot, this is big enough for both of us."

And when Chuck stills, Herc bodily pulls the kid on to the bed.

But they fit.

10.

He sleeps on a razor's edge.

And by extension, so does he.

But they don't talk about it. Because like everything else, there is nothing to talk about (or so half a decade of drifting has them convinced). The two of them lie perfectly still, Chuck on his side, face turning to the windows facing the ocean, and Herc on his back, one arm tucked beneath the pillow and the other scratching at Max's exposed belly on top of the blanket they are sharing (because Chuck only has one of that as well).

They don't pretend they are asleep, and they don't pretend they don't know just how aware they are of each other. But they both know that talking about things never make it better.

Though, they do need to talk about Max's snoring problem.

11.

It is right after their fourth kill before Chuck finally relents and backs Herc into the wall. His mouth fever hot as he kisses him, and like with everything else Chuck puts his mind to, he does it with a bone deep _need_ that bleeds red and bright through the fading bond between them.

It's not desperation, they have come too far for that.

"You knew that this was going to happen."

Herc doesn't say anything.

"What? You thought you were _better_?" Chuck supplies, and that is not hurt in his eyes, he swears. He lets go, fingers feeling like they have just been burnt. But his father catches him around his wrist, keeping him still when he finally admits, voice rough. "…if I did, I wouldn't have waited until you were eighteen to start piloting with you."

They don't say much, and what they do say really isn't as telling as they hope it is. But this, this tells Chuck everything he needs to know.

He has the tactile taste of his father's mouth on his tongue, the feel of being scraped raw by the stubbles of his father over his cheeks. He has his father's shirt clenched in a fist, his wrist caught in his hand, and the knowledge that he isn't alone in his head. And Chuck is gentle when he slowly tugs his hand back from his father's grip.

"But I can't, Chuck." There is a kind of devastation in his dad's eyes, and Chuck refuses to be the one responsible for that. Not again. "I'm your—"

"I know, _dad_."

And Chuck really, really does.

It's not forgiveness. It's never going to be that. But it is understanding in its most complicated and needlessly intricate form.

12.

_He doesn't kiss him again, but the dreams don't stop and the drifts only ever get stronger._

_They let this go on for years. Him waking up, heart in his throat, and refusing to do anything about the way his body reacts, about the way his body aches for the other mind in his head. Because it isn't really denial when they don't acknowledge it, denial is only when they refuse to admit to it. _

_They see each other in the drift, and then in their dreams._

_And it is a vicious cycle that doesn't stop._

13.

Somewhere along the way, he thinks that this is it.

(The two of them living out the life that they have given over to the war.)

And then the cycle starts afresh.

14.

"Move over, old man."

It is almost midnight when he comes to bed, Herc doesn't ask what he does but they both busy themselves and it will work until it doesn't. The bed is big enough to fit the two of them and maybe three of Max but Chuck still insists on pushing Herc over from the right of the bed, fitting himself into the space like it is his. Herc rolls over and on to the left, falling back asleep in the one place that has always fit him. Like they are back in Striker's Conn-Pod.

15.

Chuck is unapologetic when it comes to taking what he needs (he hasn't wanted anything for so long, everything becomes a necessity at this point). And maybe if Chuck hasn't grown up at the Shatterdome, and maybe if his father isn't Herc Hansen, and maybe if his best friend for a better part of his life isn't a bulldog. Maybe then, he would feel a fraction of the shame.

(Even then, maybe not.)

So he pushes his way into his father's arms when he wakes up with the faint reminder of another man's head in his own. It has been years and the rush still manages to knock the breath from his lungs, making his skin hum in anticipation. Resting his head in the crook of Herc's neck, Chuck presses his growing erection against his dad's hips when he wakes up from another man's dreams as his own.

"…Chuck."

It's not a yes, but it's far from a no. And that is just as well because Hercules Hansen will never admit to this in words, not when the silence Chuck takes from between his lips is enough.

"Shut up, dad." He pushes him into the mattress with two hands braced over his shoulders. His eyes dark, and needing, bleeding the same bright red as that first time Herc has allowed anything to get this far. But Chuck hasn't been the same boy, hasn't had his head feeling like it's been dragged through broken glass and back. Chuck leans down and presses a closed lipped kiss to Herc's, a whisper against his mouth. "I can't do this anymore."

"I know," and Herc may hate himself later for allowing things between them to get so far, but there is a pain in his son's head that he can't soothe away. And that has always been more important than any moral complications. He reaches up, cups the kid's cheek in a palm and brings him back. "I know, Chuck. It's okay, come here."

In retrospection though, they haven't got that far at all when he presses insistent kisses over his mouth, again and again, like a reassurance he has never been able to make until now.

16.

They are still soldiers on days their bones ache and there are no alarms (no sunlight), just blue light coming through the curtains before they are sitting up on their respective sides. They don't glance at the clock but if they do, it is always exactly 5:00 on the dot.

The Hansens wake up.

"Water looks good today, interested?" Chuck bites down on a slice of buttered toast he takes from his dad's plate. Herc scowls at the scatter of crumbs across the countertop and shakes his head at the offer. "I'll walk Max or something."

Chuck swallows, murmurs something that might be contentment and steals another bite from the piece of bread Herc is holding.

(He barely dodges a well aimed punch going for his head.)

17.

Herc stands by the edge of the Pacific Ocean, eyes behind shades as the sun breaks over the waves, Max digging at the sand by his feet.

He sees Chuck in the midst of the ocean, blonde hair slicked back, surfboard beneath his feet. Herc can see the lines of his body, the lowered centre of gravity, and the simple smile when he rides that last wave. He watches the cuts he makes in the water and the splatter of freckles across his shoulders when he makes it back on the beach, dripping wet.

"Hey," Herc greets him with a lift of the leash, dragging Max's attention away from whatever it is so interesting he finds in the sand.

"Missed me so soon?" Chuck grins, a challenge in the way he doesn't look at Max but at his dad instead. (And it is a step forward, one neither will admit to.)

Herc scoffs and ends up dragging Chuck across the short distance between them. He can taste the salt on his tongue and lips when he kisses him, and he can feel the press of his body when he finally leans into him.

"You're such a brat." Herc mutters when he pulls back, glancing down at the imprint Chuck's made of his entire body over his clothes.

Chuck laughs, and it's a sound that Herc has needed to hear for a good while now.

18.

In another life, neither of the Hansens make it back.

The detonation destroys the Breach, Cherno Alpha, Crimson Typhoon and Gipsy Danger destroys the triple event that comes through.

In another life, Herc and Chuck Hansen are almost grateful for an end like this.

(And in another life, monsters aren't real, and Kaiju is still a thing of Saturday morning shows. In that life, Angela never dies, and Herc and Chuck are happy in a different way.)

But this isn't that, or that, or a million other lives that might as well come true.

This is none of that.

19.

It rarely rains but when it does, Herc's entire body ache from the decades of injuries, from broken bones that have healed and torn muscles that have mend themselves beneath the scar ridden body he wears with pride (for all the comrades that never made it back).

He sits up with a soft grunt, dislodges Chuck's leg from his own, and drags the blanket that has slipped off of the kid's bare shoulders. Because of course, the little shit likes to sleep in nothing but his underwear, Max sprawled over his chest. Not that he is any different when he has been his age but—

"… It's like three in the morning, can't you go back to sleep like a normal person?"

Herc turns back at the sound of Chuck's voice, still thick with sleep, his eyes barely opened in the dark. But he does reach out, snags a hand in the hem of his grey t-shirt and pulls. Herc isn't tired, not anymore, but with Chuck at such close proximity, the pain fades a little, like a week old bruise you almost don't remember. He lies back down on the too big bed.

Chuck doesn't let go of his shirt, and Herc doesn't push him away when he swings a leg over his.

And on nights that leave them both aching and hating themselves for wanting a world at war, they find the next closest thing to the drift without the Jaeger Technology, and fit their mouths together like they would do with their minds. Every rough edge grinding against the other, silence in the air when they breathe air from each other's lungs.

And it is enough when they hold each other through the worst.

20.

This is not a love story for the new age.

It is, however, the only one for them.

XXX Kuro


End file.
